The Writer
by pstibbons
Summary: Hermione discovers a new world and an old acquaintance. PostWar HHr oneshot. Delusional Ginny.


_A/N: This oneshot can be read as an invalid response to Portkey 7B4B7 Challenge Number 5, but the muse struck several months ago. It's not a celebration of the completely irrelevant book that's coming out in two days. Since I believe that Jo is merely one of the better fanfic writers out there (see list at bottom of this page), I don't think DH is relevant at all to anti-RHr folks like me. Fanfiction is vibrant enough to not require canon any more, especially since canon is so colanderous. (I realize that's not a universally held opinion. It's just mine.) _

* * *

The Unspeakable looked back at the black hole-in-the-wall she had stepped out from, and then at the grimy wall. She shook her head in disgust. 

"Why do those imbeciles always have to find the worst places to place dimensional portals in?" she muttered to herself. 

She had good reason to complain. As part of her job as a member of the Dimensional Research Division (DReaD) of the Department of Mysteries, she had to explore hundreds of other worlds. Past research geeks in the department, tired of their colleagues ending up at the wrong end of a rampaging brachiosaurus (or buffalo or bus), spent years determining Arithmancy formulae for setting up portals in out-of-the-way places. 

Unfortunately, such places tended to be the middle of nowhere (deserts being a particular favourite), dingy caves, even dingier alleys, or in the middle of crowded discos where any sudden appearance would be merely result in witnesses deciding that they'd got a good deal on whatever mind-blowing drug they had purchased that night. 

Not that the formulae were foolproof, of course. Unspeakable Granger still remembered the time when she'd ended up in 13th Century France in front of a crowd of angry pitchfork-and-pitch-wielding villagers about to burn a witch who was really just an old woman. The villagers had all fled when Hermione conjured up some demonic illusions. Unfortunately, the terrified old woman they were trying to burn had suffered a heart attack as well. 

Hermione had taken two weeks off after that incident, though it still popped up every now and then to give her a guilty conscience. 

Now, if Hermione's team's calculations were correct, she should have ended up in a dank alley in 20th century London, in a world where Magic had long died out thanks to Purebloods successfully breeding themselves out of existence. At least, that was one theory. More likely, Magic had never existed on this world in the first place. They certainly had very few signs of it from their remote monitoring. 

She flicked her wand at the portal she had used to enter the alley. It disappeared within a minute, by which time she was already looking through her backpack for her invisibility-enabled flying motorbike. It was standard issue for missions such as these, which had made her and her husband raise their eyebrows quite a bit. 

With a silent roar, the motorbike shot into the sky, causing her to thank the stars that she had gotten over her fear of heights. Either that or it was easier to fly at a time when you couldn't see the ground. 

All those lights... 

She flinched, and quickly reached in her pockets for a calming Potion. It worked, much to her relief. 

She followed Oxford Street, heading East. She flew just above the levels of cars, so all she had to avoid were doubledecker buses and the odd lorry. Those were far easier than dodging pylons and pigeons. 

There were several difference between this world and hers, many brands she didn't recognize. Finding the differences was fun. There was no Leaky Cauldron, no Potter-part-owned gallery called Dean's Paints, and Gimli's Onion Ring was called Kentucky Fried Chicken instead. And what was this Virgin brand all over that large building? Well, she supposed it was better than calling a shop Whore, but - perhaps morals in this world were very strict if hip youngsters dared enter a store with a name like Virgin. 

She saw a bookstore approaching and automatically sent her bike lower. A quick glance at her watch meant that she had some time to pop in. She shook her head. She could do this on company time. What better place to check the history of a place than in a place with lots of books? Blackwell's would be perfect. 

She maneuvred her vehicle to the roof of the building, inadvertently causing a family of pigeons to later be ostracized by polite pigeon society for insisting that the Londoners had invented a new type of mini-plane. A minute later it was in her backpack and she had Apparated into the shut bookstore. 

She was busy walking in the direcion of the history section when she saw the books.

* * *

Harry Potter had a good life, he thought. He was, in his considered opinion, the perfect housewife. At least, that's what Hermione told him, and he did consider her opinion the only one that mattered. Sure, he had a career as a Parselmouth translator for magical archeological teams - particularly those in Egypt since Parseltongue had been far more common in Ancient EEgypt than it was now - but that could be done at home, where he could take care of the sprogs. He and Hermione had three children, but had adopted two more. His other career was more informal but more important - offering his assistance to the Department of Magical Child Welfare to ensure that the childhoods of him and Tom Riddle remained exceptional cases. That was one instance where he had no objection at all to throwing his hallowed name and reputation around. 

The kids were all playing at their friends' houses, and he was making pizzas for everyone. Making one large pizza was not an option - David's current culinary addiction was peanut butter, and he absolutely _had_ to have said condiment on his pizza. Harry was pretty sure this would not be a universally approved topping. Besides, Miranda was currently in a vegetarian phase, having been on a school field trip to a farm two months ago. Harry was surprised the phase had lasted this long - then again, both her parents had a stubborn streak. At least Jonathan and Rose and Portia could be relied upon to eat whatever pizza he made for them (as long as it had pepperoni and pineapples and no olives in it). 

He glanced at the kitchen clock and smiled. Hermione would be home in a few minutes. 

There was a crack. 

His smile grew wider - she was home early. Fortunately, he'd almost finished with the pizzas - he just had to top David's with peanut butter. After he'd done so (with an appropriate grimace - he could almost hear the pizza screaming, "You can't expect me to wear that!"), he sent all the pizzas into the awaiting hearth with a flick of his wand. 

"What's our flavour this week?" asked his wife, who was now standing in the doorway with a tired smile. 

"Your favourite," replied Harry, walking over to her and embracing her familiar frame. 

"You?" she asked with a smile before raising her head to kiss his neck and shoulder. "Sure tastes good..." 

It only took a few seconds for Harry to realize that something was wrong. Hermione's muscles were tense, and she was hugging him much harder than usual. With a last glance to the kitchen to make sure there was nothing else he needed to do for the next half hour, he picked her up and carried her to the living room. She made no objection, and held on to him tightly. 

"I don't suppose you're allowed to tell me what happened," he stated, wishing for the millionth time that his wife wasn't under numerous confidentiality clauses. 

"Actually," she replied, "this time I am. Got special permission from Frank." 

Harry was watching her carefully as she said this. They were both lying on the large couch where they frequently embarassed their children by having tongue wrestling matches. She lay against him, his arms wrapped around her, their legs entwined. They were both fully clothed, naturally, but it would still leave their eldest children saying 'ewwww' and their younger siblings following suite because 'ewwww' was a fun noise to make. 

"Really?" he asked, surprised. 

"Yes. It involves you. Besides, I told him I would find a way to tell you anyway." 

Harry kissed her hair (which had remained delightfully bushy over the years) to encourage her to continue. 

"It's not Voldemort, is it?" he asked. 

Hermione gasped for a moment, remember that old name from their past, a shared past that they both did quite well to leave behind. 

"No," she answered. "It's not. I doubt it." She sighed, wondering where to start. There were still lots of things about her current project that she wasn't allowed to reveal. "I was exploring a different universe today. It's 20th century earth. London. There's no magic there, or too little for us to detect..."

* * *

Hermione was back in the other world now. It normally took a few visits for a world to be adequately documented. This time though, she was on her own time, on her own mission. (Yes, she had permission.) 

The good thing about being in a world with no magic was that you could use Legilimency and Imperio on Muggles without any repurcussions other than a guilty conscience. And Hermione never had a problem with guilt when there was a bigger picture at stake. She'd been doing it since she was a thirteen year old brewing Polyjuice in order to discover who was controlling a Mudblood-killing beastie. 

She expected that the writer of the books she'd seen would have heavy security. Fortunately, finding the publishers wasn't difficult. She Apparated to their office. Wearing her Invisibility cloak, she invaded memories at will till she found someone who had visited the author's house. It didn't take long, she only had to abuse four people's privacy. Then she Apparated out. 

Since she hadn't been to the author's house before, she would have to Apparate to the nearest Muggle city and follow the driving directions she had ripped from the literary employee's head. Well, that gave her more time to think.

* * *

Ginny Weasley - as she was once known - peered over the expanse of her stately home with contentment. She was sitting outside, her bare legs resting on the wooden table. It was a nice summer day. She had done well for herself since she had been thrown into this world without a wand. And now that she'd written all the books of the Harry Potter series, she could relax and consider what she wanted to do with her life. Skydiving sounded fun. 

Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the distant figure approaching the gates. It was dressed completely in yellow, which contrasted greatly with the black motorbike. Curious. She wasn't expecting anyone today. Well, she wouldn't get past the gates... 

Oh shit. 

The visitor _had a wand_. 

She made as if to run, but soon gave up that idea. It wouldn't make any difference. At least she was the only one in the house today, with her husband at work, the kids at school, the gardeners tending the back gardens, and the housekeepers firmly ensconced indoors. 

Ginny was, once, a Gryffindor. Since she couldn't run, she would face her end with her head held high. 

The intruder had now driven the motorbike close to where she sat. And... the intruder was a woman. Who was now getting off the bike and taking her helmet off. 

Ginny gasped. 

"YOU!" 

"Hello, Ginevra," said Hermione. "Are you well?" 

There were no warm embracing hugs or cries of I've missed you so much!' 

"Er, yes," replied the wandless witch. "Tea?" she offered. When one was confused, traditional habits were the easiest to fall back on." 

"No, thanks." 

Ginny grimaced. As if Hermione Granger - or was it Hermione Potter now? - would accept anything that Ginny gave her to drink. 

"What are you here for? asked Ginny, deciding to get to the point. 

Hermione looked at her, then around at the house. "Curiosity, mostly. You've done well. Congratulations. Harry sends his regards." 

Ginny watched her former friend, the woman she had once betrayed and turned over to the Death Eaters, looking for any trace of sarcasm. 

"You married him, then?" 

"Yes. Five kids," said Hermione, allowing a slight flicker of happiness to shine through on her otherwise expressionless face. At Ginny's quick glance to Hermione's trim waist, she added, "Two are adopted." 

"Three here, too." 

Other pairs of witches would have exchanged photographs and tales and oohs and aahs at this point. But that wasn't the case here. Witch A had turned Witch B over to the enemy to be tortured, raped, and killed, just so that she could get Wizard C to herself. Witch B had escaped, rescued Wizard C from the Love Potions Witch A was dosing him with, and helped send Witch A into permanent exile in an unknown dimension. It was a better alternative than the Kiss or Azkaban, but Ginny's first years here had still been very hard. 

There really was very little to say. Of Ginny's family, two of her brothers had still been alive when she was exiled, and they hadn't been talking to her. Ron had joined the Death Eaters and almost managed to successfully pull a Pettigrew on Harry before he was caught out by Neville of all people. 

"Do you want any news from the old place?" asked Hermione. 

Ginny thought about it. She'd left her past behind a long time ago. But family was family. 

"It would be nice," she replied. 

Hermione nodded and quickly briefed her, finally adding, "I'll see what I can do about you contacting your brothers. No guarantees. A phone call, max. If so, we'll get word to you." 

There was an awkward silence as Ginny considered this. "Nice bike," she muttered, changing the subject. 

"It's the Ministry's." 

"Heaven forbid that Hermione Gra - Potter ever like a flying machine," said Ginny with a small smile. She didn't mean it to be insulting, and Hermione did not take it to be such. 

"Got over that. And it's still Granger," replied Hermione. "Didn't bother changing my name when I got married. Would be too confusing being called Potter, or for Harry to change his name to Granger." 

"It's customary." 

"Not my custom." 

"Bet you get flack for that." 

"The flackers often find themselves with an itch they can't scratch. If they're lucky." 

Ginny grinned. She often thought that Hermione would have been placed instantly in Slytherin if she'd not been Muggleborn. 

"I read the books," said Hermione. "You write very well. I laughed when I saw that all your family were redheads. And I agree with you're leaving the scary bits out. Especially the way Dean and Seamus died, or the Basilisk actually killing Clearwater and Justin. And I was especially surprised that you didn't make me out to be, what was it again, a manipulative gold-digging dark Mudblood whore?" 

Ginny winced. "Sorry," she said. 

"No matter," replied Hermione. "I'm surprised I came off that well in the first five books. I should thank you for that." 

Ginny shrugged. "You asked for the option to exile me instead of the Kiss," she said simply. 

"And Books Six and Seven?" 

Ginny shrugged again. "My delusions were all I had left." 

Hermione nodded. "That's fine with me." She understood. "But me and Ron?" 

Ginny grinned this time. "I knew it would piss you off." 

Hermione didn't grin back. "He was already with the Death Eaters when they captured me." 

Ginny's eyes widened, and then her hands moved to cover her mouth. "He didn't - " 

Hermione shrugged this time. 

"My gods, Hermione, I'm so sorry, I never knew - " 

The brunette witch waved that aside. "I know you didn't know. And we made sure he paid for it later." She smiled a bit. "He always said I had a broomstick up my arse, so I let him know what it felt like." She smiled. But Ron had deserved it; Hermione had not been the only woman he'd desecrated. She did think it was a bit much when Harry cast a spell to make the broomstick end pointy and impaled their former friend further on it, so she didn't mention that bit. 

Ginny looked at her watch. The kids would be coming home soon. Hermione took the hint and stood up. Neither witch said anything. Ginny's lip quivered, and Hermione had a sudden urge to hug her. She suppressed it. 

"I'll be going, then." 

Ginny nodded. "Coming back?" 

"To this world, yes. To you - do you want me to?" Hermione looked at the younger witch, who shook her head after a moment. 

"The past is painful." 

Hermione nodded, and this time the two witches embraced. 

As she watched the yellow-clad figure drive her motorbike out, Ginny wondered if she still had time to change the last chapters, to change the fate of the character who represented the friend she once betrayed.

* * *

_A/N: My list of best ever Potterverse writers, in order:   
(1) lightningonthewave   
(2) atruwriter   
(3) MissAnnThropic   
(4) J. K. Rowling (I'd place her lower, but I suppose she deserves some credit for universe creation)   
(5) lori   
(6) Juliane   
(7) Riley (there should be more witchfics writers on this list, I admit, but I've not read them in a while)   
(8) Minisinoo _


End file.
